


Dive

by varooooom



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-24
Updated: 2012-05-24
Packaged: 2017-11-05 22:06:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/411505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/varooooom/pseuds/varooooom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nothing like a good ol' sexcapade gone wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dive

**Author's Note:**

> Modern!AU. meme turned fic. sex happens. 'nuff said.

"Would you rather have sex on the kitchen counter, the couch or the dryer?"

In the years that Arthur's known Merlin, he's grown fairly accustomed to his oddities. When Morgana and Guinevere first introduced him at one of their kickbacks in uni, he'd grinned a mile and said ' _Your eyes are kind of blue, you know. Very blue_ ,' then paused, eyed him with unabashed intent and added ' _Mine are bluer._ ' Their first night together, Arthur woke up to Merlin leaving love-bites on his chest in the shape of a heart. He sometimes comes home to their shared flat with a new something-or-other whose function is questionable but 'Arthur, it was calling to me. It was _destiny_.' He's more or less used to the younger man's quirks, even finds them endearing more often than not. 

Which is why, when the question comes while he's attempting to finish typing his new proposal for work, Arthur is more than prepared and responds with a highly intelligent " _What._ "

Merlin doesn't even look up from where he's sprawled out on the couch, holding a magazine up in the air and reading it near upside down as he stretches over the arm rest. Sometimes Arthur wonders if he's not dating a cat, and then he recalls the scratches on his back from last week and finds his answer. "Kitchen counter, couch or dryer?" Merlin repeats, as though asking after the weather.

"What on _Earth_ are you reading?" Arthur shakes his head and turns back to his typing, then huffs and deletes where he'd managed to type "to converge the twoflds" in his surprise.

"I dunno," he sighs and lets the magazine fall onto his face, arms falling to rasp his knuckles against the carpet. "I think Morgana must've left it the last time she decided to usurp the living room during that row with Gwen." Arthur makes a grunt in response, decidedly not commenting on his sister's lovers' quarrels _or_ whatever treacherous material she's left about. But Merlin, naturally, doesn't let up. "So which is it?"

"That's," Arthur scoffs, clicking pointedly away on his laptop, "Those are incredibly public places, Merlin, and - why on the _dryer_? That's just -" but the ridiculous is cut short by the sound of the magazine hitting floor and Merlin's hands slipping under Arthur's shirt and a wet kiss at the sensitive skin behind his ear. Arthur's breath hitches and he wonders if perhaps he's rather a siren.

"Come _on_ ," he whines, tugging at Arthur's earlobe with his teeth playfully. "Just one."

"I _suppose_ ," Arthur breathes, abandoning all hope of getting any work done and relaxing back into his boyfriend's touch, "If I had to choose - perhaps, the counter, most likely."

Merlin hums, brushing a thumb over one of Arthur's nipples before sliding both hands down to the band of his trousers. "We could always try them first, you know. If you can't make up your mind now." Arthur's response is a gasp when Merlin's fingers travel lower and find the length of his half-hard cock with a teasing squeeze. He pulls free and all but throws the chair out of the way in his haste to retaliate.

They never make it to the kitchen, but they _do_ manage some fairly interesting carpet burns and a new appreciation for their satin sheets.

**un.**

Merlin's pop question is forgotten in the days following between work devouring their free time and Arthur throwing away Morgana's magazine after he leafs through it and finds some rather appalling explicit drawings within. The things he never wanted to know about his sister -

Most nights, they're too tired from the day's events to cook a proper dinner and usually end up ordering takeaway and lazing about the living room with whatever's on the telly at the time. Rare occasions find Arthur home before Merlin, though, and that leaves time for a quick trip to Tesco (' _God forbid you keep more than yoghurt and beer in the fridge,_ ' Morgana has often been known to say) and one of his old recipes from home. 

When Ygraine passed, Uther became distant, and when Morgana came to live with them, he became all but non-existent, and Arthur took it upon himself to cook for the two of them in his absence. He's a fairly decent hand at it, where Merlin is atrocious in any and all things culinary. There's still a burn on the inside of the stove from his attempt at making _scones_ , a feat Arthur will never understand and never let die, much to Merlin's chagrin. He was banned from the kitchen henceforth, leaving Arthur to cook for them on the nights they have the time.

He doesn't mind, though, and every Merlin's boyish grin at the end of every successful meal is worth the time it takes to prepare it. Already lost in the sizzling of the final flourishes and humming along to the radio, Arthur doesn't notice when Merlin comes home until his arms wrap around his waist and he's resting his chin on his shoulder.

"Mm, smells good," he smiles, slipping a few fingers underneath the hem of Arthur's shirt to run along his waistband.

"You think _everything_ smells good, you glutton." A tease, and a common one between them. Merlin eats like he's never known a decent meal in his life, and it shows for nothing in his lean muscles and bony hips that are currently slotting in nicely behind Arthur. Arthur bites back a grin, "This should be done in a second, if you'd be so kind as to set the table."

"Mmhm," Merlin hums, lips pressed to Arthur's neck and fingernails dragging lightly along the firm line of muscle at his hips. Arthur lets out a shallow gasp and presses back against him out of instinct, then laughs airily.

"This is going to burn, you twat."

"Mmhm," he repeats, then _bites_ into Arthur's neck, the wanker, and Arthur drops the spatula he was using in favour of bracing himself against the oven door. Merlin, naturally, takes this as encouragement, and Arthur can feel his grin against his skin just before he pulls away to tug off Arthur's shirt. He complies, shutting off the burner before raising his arms and turning around to nudge Merlin back in the direction of the counter that separates the kitchen from the dining room.

It seems a damn shame for them to part their lips, even to pull off Merlin's shirt in turn and hear his moan when Arthur sucks a bruise into the nook of his collarbone. A hand fists into Arthur's hair to tug him back into another kiss, and their tongues slide together hungrily as Arthur lifts Merlin up onto the counter. He kisses his way back down his torso, Merlin brushing through golden strands and breathing harshly all the while until Arthur has his jeans open and the tip of his cock in his mouth, at which point he gasps and arches his back.

Arthur lets him thrust up into his mouth, sucking obligingly in time and reveling in the quiet mutterings of ' _God, fuck, so good, please_ ' from above him. When the grip in his hair tightens, Arthur hollows his cheeks to suck harder and Merlin cries out his name.

" _Arthur_ ," and Arthur hums in response, which makes Merlin nearly _scream_ in pleasure, but he pulls Arthur's hair away, " _No_ , Arthur, seriously -"

And then the fire alarms go off as the chicken in the stove burns, along with whatever scone-y residue Merlin left in there ages ago.

**deux.**

Merlin is a bit of a slob.

It's not as though he's _dirty_ , moreso that he's really incredibly _lazy_ to the point Arthur would be almost impressed if it weren't absolutely horrendous. Even before they moved into a flat together, Merlin would leave his things about Arthur's place as though he lived there and the mug on the table was simply a forgotten thought on his way to the bedroom. It's what convinced them to move in together - they eventually realised Merlin had half his belongings gathering en masse and threatening to overtake Arthur's modest space. 

Yet even after moving to a larger condo, Merlin still manages to wreak havoc and terrorize Arthur's minimalist tendencies, and Arthur refuses to play nanny. When his laundry becomes the Leaning Tower of Clothesa, (' _Giving it a nickname doesn't make it cute,_ Mer _lin_ ,') Arthur forces him to wash his own clothes or walk around naked, the repercussions for which he will not be held accountable.

It's made for a few interesting days. But mostly, it makes Merlin do laundry for hours at a time when he's at the end of his closet.

Arthur walks in on one such day, folding his arms across his chest and leaning on the doorframe just as Merlin is throwing darks in the washer, dryer rumbling steadily alongside him. End of the closet means end of the closet, and once the basket is empty, he pulls off his shirt to throw on top. Not a second later, Arthur's hands are on him, lightly tracing the contours of his spine and shoulder blades, the small of his back and the small crease of his arse peeking from where Arthur's footie shorts are slung low on his hips. Merlin gasps quietly, bracing himself on the sides of the washer as Arthur wraps his arms around him and dips his fingers under the waistband.

"You know," he says lowly, nipping gently at the shell of Merlin's ear, "You should probably wash these too," and he trails along the sharp cut of his hips once before pushing the shorts down and letting them fall to pool around his ankles. 

Merlin flushes to the tips of his ears as he his cock begins to fill, breath coming loud and hot. Arthur grins victoriously and starts kissing along Merlin's back as he sinks down to his knees, hands firm at Merlin's hips. He bites playfully at his left cheek, earning a breathy laugh, and then slips his thumbs between to prod at his hole, which earns another gasp and an encouraging push back against the slight pressure. Arthur hums a little then runs his tongue around the pink ring, and Merlin moans loudly, knees nearly buckling as his legs turn to jelly. Laughing, Arthur reaches down for the shorts, which Merlin steps out of obligingly, and stands back up to toss them in the washer.

"Come here, you," he spins Merlin around, who immediately fists Arthur's shirt and drags him forward into hungry kisses, drawing his tongue out with licks and nips, and hushed gasps.

" _God_ , Arthur," Merlin breathes against Arthur's lips, chest heaving and beads of precome trailing across his belly. "Dryer?"

"Dryer," Arthur smiles and shuts the washer door to ease Merlin up onto it.

But then Merlin starts giggling from the cold of the metal and the rumbling beneath him, and doesn't stop until he falls off and nearly cracks his skull.

**trois.**

Between Arthur working late nights to finish the impossible workload given to him by his father (' _He claims not to give you special treatment for being his son but you work three times as hard as any other employee,_ ' Merlin pouts and Arthur says nothing,) and Merlin being the only moderately competent instructor at his co-ed private school (' _You've been working directly with the principal to cover for these idiots, there's no reason you shouldn't be made an administrator,_ ' Arthur gripes, and Merlin says nothing,) they often spend little time relaxing and simply enjoying each others' presence. They nearly always eat breakfast and dinner together, and sometimes Arthur will sneak by the school on his lunch break, but they're usually on a time limit and chasing the clock, or too tired from all their running.

It was a point of trouble between them once and only once, not including the nights they lay tangled between the sheets and dreaming of leaving their jobs and their lease and finding an island to live secluded from society and have sex on the beach every day (' _You'd burn in a heartbeat, Merlin, remember that weekend in Cancun_?'). Arthur had come home well after midnight, worn to the bone and frustrated more than ever with Uther, and found Merlin asleep on the couch, takeaway left untouched and gone bad where it was undoubtedly waiting for his arrival. Guilt washed away the anger immediately, and Arthur kissed Merlin all over while Merlin held him and told him ' _it's okay, we're okay, it'll be okay._ '

Sundays became their own personal Sabbath. 

Arthur threatened to quit if his father didn't give him the day off, knowing full well Pendragon Corp. would lose half its revenue without Arthur managing everything. Merlin makes certain that all his grading and lesson plans are set by Saturday evening, and told his useless coworkers to do their own or suffer for it. Which left Sundays. Sundays, where they rarely if ever make plans but always go on some sort of date, whether it's to a new restaurant or Merlin's favourite that Arthur secretly hates or visit a new art gallery that's just opened downtown or to wander along the Thames until they lose all sense of direcion. Sundays are sacred and special, and often what gets Arthur through the week.

This Sunday, they're feeling a bit lazy and decide to cook together (which means Arthur cooks and Merlin watches with very useful and highly inappropriate commentary) to curl up with a movie and just relax for awhile. Arthur enjoys these sorts of nights the most, because Merlin forgets he's taller for once and snuggles into a ball in front of Arthur, leaving him to press kisses into his hair and feel the laughter course through his body as he mocks the nuances of the film.

Once the credits roll, Merlin breaks into his standard criticism of every place the movie fell short, and Arthur smiles like there's nothing more perfect in all the world, and Merlin kisses him because ' _My heart might otherwise burst, you wonderful jerk._ '

Arthur kisses him back happily, one hand cupping his cheek gently, but then Merlin rolls him over and nudges him up to lean against the armrest and straddle his hips. Licking his way into Arthur's mouth, the kisses turn hungry and near aggressive until the both of them are out of breath and panting, and Merlin takes the opportunity to discard both of their shirts to the floor. Arthur buries one hand in Merlin's hair to pull him back into fervent kisses, the other finding its way to his hip to rock them both together. Merlin moans into Arthur's lips, gripping the armrest tightly and meeting each thrust until it's too much to take anymore.

"Wait," he gasps, getting to his feet messily and holding up a finger. "Just, just wait," and so Arthur does. Merlin dashes from the room and returns a second later with lube and a condom, setting them down on the stand beside the couch as he removes his trousers. "Pants. Off. Now."

Arthur laughs, "Yes, my lord," and shucks his own slacks down to kick them off the couch so Merlin can reclaim his perch. He kisses Arthur once, then grabs the lube and pours a liberal amount on his own fingers before reaching behind him and, " _Oh_ -"

Merlin only manages to grin for a second; his eyes flutter shut and he gasps instead as he starts fucking himself on his own fingers. It completely steals Arthur's breath away, and sheer arousal and desire lead him to follow Merlin's hand, mingling with the freely slicked fingers before slipping one of his own in alongside Merlin's two. Merlin cries out loudly and ruts back against them both until, "It's, I need, _fuck_ , Arthur -"

They get the condom on and lubed, but Merlin's cry of Arthur's name as he slides down onto his cock is covered up by the door to the flat slamming open and shut.

"Arthur, you won't _believe_ what Gwen just -" Morgana starts, then pauses at the sight on the couch and goes about her merry way without batting so much as an eyelash. "Finish that up quickly and get over here. You need to drink my feelings with me. Hello, Merlin."

Arthur swears. Loudly.

**_aller._ **

Failed attempts at being adventurous aside, Arthur decides that this, _this_ is how he prefers things. Merlin beneath him, hands fisted in the sheets and legs wrapped tightly around him, completely wrecked and losing his breathe to Arthur's name, over and over, uninhibited and undisturbed and perfect, perfect.

"I love you."

And that's all he really needs.


End file.
